L'amour des deux lapins: Ce n'est pas un caneton
by Polly Lynn
Summary: "He's not a little annoyed. He's mad and she doesn't know why and everything is weird. The rabbits are unhappy and she's not exactly sure what to do with their houseguest." A silly entry in the bunneh-verse in honor of Cora Clavia's birthday.


Title: L'amour des deux lapins: Ce n'est pas un caneton

WC: ~1500

Rating: K+

Summary: "He's not a little annoyed. He's _mad_ and she doesn't know why and everything is weird. The rabbits are unhappy and she's not exactly sure what to do with their houseguest."

A/N: Ok, Brain literally decided at 11:55 pm that it wanted to write this for Cora Clavia's birthday, so this is SUPER-rough and very, very stupid. But it is written with heartfelt birthday wishes, nonetheless.

A silly entry in the bunneh-verse that comes after the original story.

* * *

He's mad.

Like really, genuinely _mad_.

It's not that he doesn't get mad. He does. It shocked her. That first real fight they had after they were finally together, and he was _mad_ at her in a totally not-life-and-death way. It scared the hell out of her.

And it was a huge relief, too. That he _could _get mad. That he would. That they could be . . . not-so-careful with each other some times. That they could yell or give each other the silent treatment and still come back together. Crashing or crawling or falling into bed. All three at once, sometimes. Exhausting most of the time. But a relief. That they could both get mad and have it not be the end of the world.

She knows he gets mad. She even expected him to be a little . . . annoyed with her. She did kind of do an end run around him. Alexis did, really. She just . . . assisted.

But he's not a little annoyed. He's _mad,_ and she doesn't know why, and everything is weird. The rabbits are unhappy, and she's not exactly sure what to do with their houseguest.

Batman seems to have some ideas. She's pressed up to the front of the hutch, and when she's not chattering angrily at Kate, she's turning her head from side to side and eyeing up the saucepan in a way that suggests she has some definite ideas regarding what to do with their houseguest.

Ferrous is thumping around behind her. He's splitting his time between trying to cuddle Batman out of her foul mood and shoving his nose through the mesh every time there is any kind of action in the vicinity of the saucepan.

There's a _lot _of action in the vicinity of the saucepan. Frantic flapping for no obvious reason that sends water sloshing over the side, followed by long stretches of contented silence broken by soft, irregular sounds. _Peep_ _peep peep_.

Ferrous loves the _peep peep peep._ He does a lumbering little dance every time until Batman glares him into stillness. He looks unhappy then. He buries his nose under his front paws like he's ashamed, but forgets by the next string of peeps and it starts all over again.

Batman gets more furious by the minute. She should be out and about now, not locked away. This isn't the schedule, and Kate's pretty sure she's not eyeing up the saucepan in a friendly way. She's pretty sure Batman has her suspicions about who's to blame for this.

Castle is shut away in the office. Like, door-actually-firmly-closed shut away. That's not the schedule, either, and it's kind of pointless. She can see him through the shelves, and she knows he's not really working, whatever he said.

He's mad, and _fine_, she should have talked to him. She shouldn't have told Alexis it was ok, and she should have realized that Alexis had _already_ talked to him. That she knew full well it wasn't ok.

Except she did realize that. Not for sure or anything. Not _exactly,_ but Alexis is an even more hopeless liar than her father, and Kate knew something was up.

She knows he's being weird about this. She's more than a little tired of it. It's upsetting Alexis and it's not like him.

He's a total pushover when it comes to his kid, and this obviously means a lot to her. But he's not being a pushover about this. He's being _weird,_ and Alexis is being quiet, and Martha trails around intoning cryptic things about mortality, and it's like everyone expects Kate to fix it. So she tried, and he's mad, and she's kind of trapped in her own living room.

Not for long, though.

Batman's not going to stand for being locked up much longer, and Ferrous has gone sad and still. He still pokes his nose through at the faint splashes and the _peep peep peep, _but Batman's fury is too much for him to keep up his dance.

They shouldn't _have _to stand for being locked up. They should be out and he should be sitting on the floor in front of the couch, giving her long-suffering looks as they clamber up and down his bent knees. He should be calling out every time her head is turned to tell her that she just missed the most diabolical thing that Batman did. He should be narrating Ferrous's ridiculously eloquent internal monologue.

He should be _here_.

There's a particularly violent splash from the saucepan just then. A particularly frantic flurry of wings and the _peep peep peep _turns agitated. Batman draws herself up and slaps hard at the mesh. It rings out and Ferrous . . . kind of howls. He lets out this noise that deeper than Batman's chatter and not at all the contented rumble he usually makes. It cuts off in an instant, though, and he hides his nose again, ashamed.

Kate's had enough. They all seem to have had enough.

She unfurls herself from a tight knot on the couch. She bends over the coffee table, and carefully lifts the saucepan.

Batman is furious. She slaps the mesh again, harder this time. Louder. Ferrous joins in, hurling his immense side against it hard enough to make the whole door jump.

"Hey." Kate snaps her fingers.

Batman's head jerks up. She glares, but sits back on her haunches. She waits.

"Two minutes," Kate says. "Two minutes and I'll let you out."

The two rabbits look at each other as if they're deciding whether or not she can have them. Kate doesn't stick around to find out. If she comes back to find the hutch demolished and the loft in flames, it's on his head.

She marches to the office door with the saucepan curled to her chest. He hears her. She knows he does, but he's studiously ignoring her when she twists the handle and barges in. He's banging away like she doesn't know what fake typing looks like, and something about it just pegs her meter.

She stalks to the desk and sets the saucepan down. She shoves it across the surface and almost laughs at the way he jerks back with a not-quite-stifled shriek. _Almost _laughs.

"I'm sorry," she blurts.

It's grudging and sharp and not at all what she planned on saying.

From the way he's blinking up at her, it's not what he expected to hear.

"I don't know what's going on with you." She sighs and scrubs the back of her hand across her forehead. "I don't know why you're being weird about this, but I shouldn't have gotten in the middle. I should have asked and I'm sorry."

"You should've asked," he says. "But Alexis shouldn't have asked you._ She_ put you in the middle."

"I don't . . ."

She doesn't know what to say. She lets her head drop back and stares at the ceiling. There's a tiny splash and an incongruously cheerful string of _peep peep peep_.

Her chin drops to her chest and she catches him staring. He's . . . disgusted. He hates the thing and it's so _weird, _and she has no idea what's going on.

"Castle. I'm sorry. I should have asked, but I didn't, and he's here now."

She comes around the side of the desk and he reaches for her. He wraps an arm all the way around her hips and presses his face into her thigh. He's upset. Genuinely upset and she doesn't even know what kind of mess this is.

She slides her palm along his shoulders and around his neck. She bends over in an awkward embrace. He takes one long breath and pulls her into his lap. He turns his head to burrow into the hollow of her shoulder.

"He's here now," she says, "and the rabbits are upset at being locked up too long and I think Batman wants to eat him."

"No, Ferrous wants to eat him." He mumbles gloomily against her neck. "Batman just wants to taste his blood."

She laughs into his hair. They sit a while, and she wants to stay. She wants to rest against him and feel the weight of it. Him being mad at her and that being ok. She wants to stay, but it's been more than two minutes and she should probably be worried that it's quiet.

She pulls back to look at him. "Can I just leave him here while I let them out?"

He looks toward the saucepan. The little duck is paddling around happily, peering curiously over the side. Their eyes meet briefly and Castle looks away, more misery than disgust now.

"He's my responsibility and I'm sorry." She kisses his forehead. "But can I just leave him while I let the rabbits out? He mostly just splashes around."

"And makes that horrible noise." Castle unwinds himself from her. He stands, dumping her a little unceremoniously one minute and catching her around the waist the next. He grabs her hips and steps behind behind her, keeping her body between him and the saucepan. "You can't leave me alone with him."

"Castle." She gives an exaggerated gasp. "Are you afraid of your own grand-duckling?"

He stops. He's halfway to the door, but he stops and turns to face her. "Don't call it that."

He's . . . not mad exactly. He's weird. He's being weird again, and they're going to have to have to have whatever this is out eventually.

But he's not mad, exactly, and they don't have to have it out now.

"Fine," she says. She slides the saucepan carefully off the table and brushes by him on her way through the door. "But remember this moment when you're paying for Chuck's therapy."

"Chuck?" He calls after her. He's appalled, but it beats mad or weird. "She named him _Chuck?" _

"Chuck," she says over her shoulder. "Chuck the duck."


End file.
